


Spooky Scary Skeletons

by Qzil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Witches, grave robbing, vage historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzil/pseuds/Qzil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg digs up Castiel’s grave and brings home his ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spooky Scary Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> Another MSR prompt. This time it was 'ghosts or witches or skeletons' so I did all three. Big shout out to bloodandcream for the original idea.

The swollen moon hung heavy in the sky, casting a silver glow down into the silent night. Nothing stirred in the graveyard as Meg lumbered down the path, holding a lantern out in front of her while she carried a shovel slung over one shoulder. The flame on her candle flickered and the hem of her old dress brushed against her ankles with every step. It was bitterly cold, and for a second Meg wished that she’d thought to grab her shawl. But she would be warm soon enough. 

Once she was deep enough into the graveyard to not be seen from the road, she dropped her lantern in front of the wooden marker and took a deep breath. 

The name Castiel Milton was carved neatly into the wood, along with his birth and death dates, and his cause of death. According to his gravemarker, he had fatally wounded the bear that had mauled him to death, and the beast had been found dead a few hours later. 

Not only that, but he had been buried with the skull of the beast that had killed him. 

Meg shook her head and set to work, sinking the blade of her shovel into the hard earth under her. It would take a while to reach his coffin, she knew. Her arms would be aching and her hands would be blistered, but she’d have the bones she needed for her spell, so it would all be worth it. 

The moon had sunk low in the sky by the time her shovel hit wood. Meg was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, there were streaks of dirt on her gray dress, and there were blisters on her hand. But she’d done it. She threw the shovel out of the hole, pulled the collar of her dress up over her mouth and nose in case the corpse still smelled somehow, and cracked the lid open. 

Man and bear stared back at her with empty eye sockets. 

Meg reached into the coffin and neatly took two rib bones, a few finger bones, and the man’s skull. She left the bear’s head where it was. If she so desired, she could simply go into the woods and call a bear to her, and enchant it to kill itself so she could have its skin and bones. She’d done it before with other animals when she needed their parts for a spell. It was simple. 

Much simpler than the spell she needed human bones to pull off, at any rate. 

Stuffing the smaller bones into her pocket, Meg threw the skull out of the hole and clambered out after it to begin the unpleasant process of filling the hole back up. Since her target had died fifty years prior, it was unlikely that someone would come visit him, but it still wouldn’t do for someone to notice that he’d been dug up. 

Once she was finished, she brushed her hands together, cradled the skull against her breast, and scooped up her lantern. It was awkward to keep the skull secure and the shovel slung over her shoulder, but she managed. 

Just as she reached the gate, snow began to fall. 

. 

Shivering, Meg slipped into her small home and deposited her prize on her table. Her shack at the edge of the woods was barely large enough to even be called a shack, and so far away from the rest of town that she knew that there were rumors that she was a witch. 

They were true, but nobody needed to know that. 

She peeled her old dress off her body and slipped into her every day one, not bothering to change her stockings and petticoats. She threw a cardigan over her shoulders for extra warmth, and pulled her mother’s old shawl on over that as well. She kept her worn boots on and lit every candle in the space for light. 

Finishing up, she took her cap off and let her long, dark hair tumble down past her waist. She hung her cap up and settled down at the table to have a bowl of stew before she got to work. She was still eating well, even this deep into the winter, and had kept her summer curves. Her face was still round, her waist and bust ample, and her eyes bright. Being what she was, she never hungered. 

And, if she could pull tonight’s ritual off right, she would never want for anything again. 

Once she was finished with her bowl of stew, Meg set to work. She cleared the table off, fished up a piece of charcoal, and began drawing out her runes. It was tedious work, making sure she got every detail right, but she had no time to waste. The ritual had to be completed at dawn on the last night of the full moon. 

After, Meg carefully arranged the finger and rib bones over the symbols and rummaged through her spice rack for the appropriate herbs, piling a little of each one over the corresponding symbols. Finally, she picked up the skull and set it in the center of the circle. 

All that was left to do was wait, light the appropriate candles, and give something of herself. After that, good fortune would come her way for life. She would live in comfort, in luxury, and she would have all the money and power that she could ever want. 

She’d been born a witch, like her mother before her, and her grandmother before her. Her mother had taught her little spells and enchantments, but the woman had been content to live her life at the edge of town, isolated from normal humans. Meg was not. She wanted power, money, and a beautiful, tall man by her side to warm her bed at night. Unfortunately, her mother had taught her magic that was mostly based in survival, spells that encouraged crops to grow and animals to throw themselves at her feet. Luckily, Meg’s grandmother had been made of sterner stuff, and had passed on her spellbook when she’d died, leaving Meg the spell that the old woman had used to steal the luck from another person. 

And she knew that Castiel’s family still lived. The Novak line was strong in town. Sure, when she took their luck, they would probably all die out, but it was no concern of hers. 

She was waiting when cold air blew through the room, snuffing out a handful of candles. The line of salt she’d drawn around the table remained untouched, however. Smiling, Meg leaned over and  re-lit a candle. 

“You can’t scare me,” she said. “Come out, come out.”

The air in front of her small bed shimmered. A human shaped shadow manifested, eventually solidifying into the shape of a man. 

“Castelle,” she greeted. The man glared at her. 

“Cas-ti-el,” he corrected. “Who are you, and what have you done with my remains?”

Meg smiled at him. “Sorry. And they’re just over there at the table.” She kept smiling at him. Ghosts were always a hazard when you were dealing with human body parts, her grandmother had told her. 

If Meg had been asked to describe the ghost, the first thing she would’ve said was ‘blue’. His skin was a chalky, pale blue, his lips a purplish blue, his old-fashioned clothing a gray-blue, and his hair a gray-blue. 

But his eyes were a clear, crystal blue that reminded Meg of the summer sky. 

The next words she would’ve chosen were ‘ground meat’. 

Clearly, wounds did not disappear after death, if the ghost in front of her was any indication. Any idiot would be able to tell that he had died fighting a bear. The bottom half of his right arm was hanging from the top half by a string of skin, his clothes were torn beyond use, and his stomach was ripped open, revealing pale-blue guts. His face might have been square once, but half of it was missing, his jawbone shattered. One eye hung from the socket, glowing slightly in the faint light. 

It was a miracle his skull was still intact. 

“Hi, I’m Meg,” she introduced herself. “I’ll be cursing your descendants this evening.”

“Witch,” he hissed. Meg beamed at him. “Return my remains to their resting place at once.”

“Sure I will, as soon as I’m done with ‘em,” she promised. 

He seemed to relax when she said that. Instead of making more demands or trying to hurt her, he glanced around the small shack instead with his one good eye. He settled his gaze on the table. 

“You really are a witch.”

“Sure am. Why, did you want to watch me dance naked in front of a bonfire before I put you back?” she teased. He tensed at her words. Then, oddly enough, he blushed. 

It wasn’t a real blush, exactly, but Meg would bet her left foot that it was as close to a blush as a ghost could get. The skin on his cheek went from a pale blue to a darker, almost purplish blue, as did his one good ear. 

“Aw, did I say something too forward? You should get used to it, Clarence. We’re going to be boning in a few minutes, after all.”

“Castiel, not Clarence,” he corrected. “Seeing as I have no physical form, that would be impossible.”

Meg blinked. So, he had a sense of humor. 

“You know, you’re funny,” she said. “And you’re tied to me as long as I have your bones, right?”

He nodded. “As long as you are in possession of my skull, I am bound here. I must go where it follows.”

Meg stood up and broke her circle. “Hey, is there anyone in the Crowley family buried by you?” Fergus Crowley was one of the richest men in town, and one of the slimiest. He’d been trying to get her tried and hanged for witchcraft for years, despite the fact that Meg knew he had dabbled in spells as well.  So far, she’d been able to wriggle her way out of being convicted, but she knew it was only a matter of time before someone caught her at something. 

“There is. Why?”

“Because I like you, and if I can suck all of Crowley’s luck away instead of your family’s, I’ll be a happy camper,” she explained. She blew out all but one of her candles, picked up the skull, and carried it to bed with her, tucking it near her breast when she settled under the covers. 

“What are you doing?” the ghost yelped. 

“Calm down. I figure it’s been a long while since you slept with a woman. You deserve a treat since I pulled you out of the afterlife. I’ll put you back tomorrow. Or maybe not. We could see if we could do anything with those ghost powers.”

The ghost sputtered indignantly at her, but when she blinked Meg found him lying next to her on the bed, one watery hand resting on the skull. 

She smiled. She would have to wait a month to try the ritual again, but in the meantime, she had other interesting experiments to conduct.


End file.
